The Obligatory Drabble Dump Thingy
by julielal
Summary: An assortment of drabbles, for your eyes only. Brotherly Elric fluffiness, Ling being... Ling, Roy whimpering, Havoc and Breda being matey, Furey being cute, Kimblee being creepy... Something for the whole family. Except, you know, not really .
1. Bronze

This fic is in fact a place where I elected to dump my FMA drabbles. They were all written the fma_fic_constest community on Livejournal. I even won the occasional banner, which is always a nice ego stroke.

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BRONZE (K)

Ed was woken by a very strange sensation. Something warm and raspy was rubbing against his forehead. When he opened his eyes to investigate the question, he saw what was probably fur, but it was actually close enough to his eyes to be blurry so he couldn't be certain. The two paws against his cheekbones gave a pretty good clue as to the identity of the guilty party.

"AL! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!"

Al was sleeping next door and the walls were thin, so the bellowing wasn't strictly speaking necessary, but it was very satisfying. Surprised, the kitten leapt away and went to hide under the dresser.

A few seconds later, Ed's brother appeared at the door, still in his pajamas, his hair sticking up wildly.

"Brother, it's five in the morning."

"Yeah, well tell that to your damned beast. It woke me up, and I totally blame you."

"How do you know it was me?" Clearly Al wasn't quite awake. "Er, I mean, what beast?"

"Al, are you trying to tell me that it was Granny Pinako who let a kitten in?"

"… Yes?"

"Al."

"But he was all alone, and it was raining, I couldn't leave him outside!"

"Yes you could! Al, how many times do we need to have that conversation? We can't-"

"But we _can_! You said we couldn't have a pet because we were always travelling around and it wouldn't have a real home, but we're here now, we're not going anywhere!"

The armor had been much easier to say no to, because it hadn't been able to turn big watery eyes which implied only a monster could possibly be callous enough to upset their owner on him. Al had gotten very good at making Ed feel guilty. In this particular instance, Ed suspected him of doing it on purpose.

Al bent down and retrieved the kitten from under the dresser. From the safety of his arms, it gave an absolutely pitiful little meow, and now there were two sets of large begging bronze eyes on Ed.

And Ed, who prided himself on his pure manly badassness and utter imperviousness to all things cute and fluffy, caved in.

"Oh, alright. But if it pees on my bed I'm transmuting it into earmuffs."

Al had the biggest, brightest smile, and looked half a second away from launching himself at his brother in a display of gratefulness.

"Now take your beast and let me go back to sleep before I change my mind, you manipulative little traitor."

"Thanks, Ed."

"Yeah, yeah."


	2. Cherry Blossoms, etc

**Cherry Tree Blossoms, Winter Sunsets And Tumultuous Rivers (T+)**

While Ling was very convenient when it came to handling certain hormonal urges, sometimes Ed wondered if getting laid semi-regularly was worth the aggravation.

Ling had a big mouth, and even though this could be a very definite plus in some circumstances, life would have been much easier if he hadn't used said mouth to talk. Or more precisely, to quote.

Poetry.

_Romantic_ poetry.

In bed, of course. Or on whatever flat surface was at hand when the urge struck. Being sixteen and in constant danger of death had made both teenagers remarkably unfussy, even though they had quickly learned that, as hot as screwing against a tree sounded, you could get all sorts of disgusting rashes in places no man should ever get a rash. Whoever said willow tree bark was good for you was nothing but a quack.

And it wasn't even the frisky kind of limericks that could conceivably constitute dirty talk, but the flowery, syrupy kind of sonnets that made Ed want to puke.

And it really, _really_ didn't help that most of Ling's favourite poems featured the golden-haired, golden-eyed Western Sage. Ling thought Ed's colouring was a sign of fate. Ed thought genetics sucked balls. Ling accused Ed of being unromantic. Ed agreed and routinely threw Ling out on his arse for quoting cornball stuff in bed. Ling pouted. Ed grumbled and let him back in on condition that his mouth _stay shut_.

Ling being Ling, he never obeyed that particular order (even though it sounded kind of kinky and therefore worthy of exploration), but he was wise enough to wait until Ed was too far gone to care. And even then, he was careful to whisper the words against Ed's skin instead of shouting them like he really wanted, in Xingese as an extra precaution. In those moments, he regretted dearly that Ed was such a genius, because it wouldn't take him long to pick up enough Xingese to realize that he was being compared to cherry tree blossoms, winter sunsets and tumultuous rivers, and then there would be hell to pay.

Ling had to admit the thrill of danger was a bit of a turn on, though, so that worked out all right.

And, really, if watching Ed drift to sleep against his chest didn't inspire poetry, nothing in this world, or indeed in any other, did. His long, silky blonde hair, his tanned skin, his high cheekbones, his firm little rump, everything about Ed called, screamed even, for some verse. In Ling's completely objective opinion, even his obnoxiously loud snoring and his tendency to drool were things of beauty.

When he had told Ran Fan that, she had actually laughed in his face, but Ling knew warriors have no appreciation for beauty, so he forgave her. That was also partly why he forgave Ed every time he was thrown out of a window. (Ling didn't think of himself as a warrior, but rather as an artistic, romantic soul who occasionally hacked monsters to pieces with a wickedly sharp sword. The future emperor of Xing had to know how to multitask, after all.).

Ed's annoyance was nothing but a front he put up to look manly and unshakable, and if he scoffed every time Ling tried to compliment him, it was simply because his modesty demanded it. Somehow, when anyone pointed out that Ed was possibly the most arrogant person in existence, Ling saw no contradiction. Ed was proud of his intellectual and athletic prowess, with good reason, but he was also terribly shy when it came to more personal matters, such as the enormous scars that spread across his shoulder and chest or the fact that he was nothing but a big softy when it came to little girls and/or his brother.

Beautiful inside and out, Ling thought while Ed unconsciously kicked him in the shin with his automail leg while stealing all the blankets. When he went back to Xing, he would gather all the best artists in the country in his court and ask them to paint Edward, to write about his exploits, his virtues and his beauty. It would be easy, of course, even without ever meeting Ed (because if the artists met him then he would _know_, and Ling would die a very messy death) for what better muse could anyone hope for? Yes, that was a very good plan. All of Ling's plans were very good. On that thought, the future emperor of Xing fell asleep.

When he woke up, Ed was already gone, he had no idea where his trousers were, and there was a crumpled note on the vacant pillow.

_Out, had shit to do. Clear out the room before ten. And __no__ room service._

Seventeen syllables in three sentences. Five, seven, five. Oh, Ed had written him a haiku, how adorable!

Really, Ling had known all along that Ed had the soul of a poet.


	3. Destroyator

**Destroyator (K)**

Kain Fury was the last member of Team Mustang to join the office, about two months after Falman and six months after Havoc and Breda. Hawkeye, of course, had been there from the beginning. As is usual when someone joins a pre-existing group, he was thoroughly examined, and an unofficial meeting was held in the cafeteria to allow everyone to share their opinion. Only Breda, Havoc and Falman came, because Hawkeye refused to get involved and called them a bunch of meddling old gossips, and no one had had the guts to wake Mustang from his nap when he was wearing his gloves.

Breda, who was suspiciously excited about the whole thing, started the hostilities.

"So, what do you think about the new kid?"

"I think he should change his name," said Jean. "I mean, _Fury_? Really? That just doesn't work."

"Why?" asked Falman. Breda and Havoc gave him a blank look. Really, the man had no imagination, it was sort of sad. Maybe they should try getting him drunk.

"Come on, Vato, even you can see it doesn't suit him at all. He's all small and sweet; he seriously needs a better name. Something, I don't know, softer."

"Yeah. Alexander Snuggles, Bryan Fuzzykins, something like that." Now it was Breda's turn to get blank stares.

"Bryan Fuzzykins?" asked Havoc. Breda shrugged. "The point is, calling him Fury is like calling a poodle puppy Destroyator. It's so ridiculous it's actually funny."

"If it's funny, let him keep his name. You two love a good laugh," Falman pointed out, as though he himself were immune to good laughs. Which he seemed to be, come to think of it. They _really _needed to get some beer in him one of these days.

"Yeah, but I'd feel guilty laughing at him too much. Remember when he said he still lived with his mother yesterday and coffee went up my nose? You should have seen the look he gave me; I thought he was going to cry. Made me feel like a real moron."

"You are a moron."

"Shut _up_, Havoc."

"Love you too, Breda."

"Moron means carrot in old Amestrian," interrupted Falman in a suspiciously neutral voice.

"What?"

"The epithet 'carrot' is often applied to people with red hair, so in this instance, I would side with Havoc. You are a moron."

There were a few seconds of stunned silence.

"Falman, was that a _joke_?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

A few more seconds of silence. Falman sipped his coffee innocently.

"Right. Back on track. How do you think the kid ended up in the army? I don't see him signing up to be sent to the front," asked Havoc.

"'Cept maybe to follow his mother."

"He is a genius in telecommunications. I expect he was scouted at university," said Falman.

"There are loads of applications for telecommunications in the private sector, though. He could have made a killing working for a private company," said Breda pensively.

"Maybe he wanted to help his country. He seems like the type. He's all… enthusiastic and stuff. Reminds me a bit of my sister's Labrador."

"Classy, Havoc," drawled Breda.

"What? It's true. He's like a huge puppy, all big eyes, wriggling like he needs to pee every time Mustang pokes his head in the office. And have you seen the way he looks at Hawkeye? You'd think she was Santa or something."

"He looks at you the same way," pointed out Falman. Havoc seemed to puff up in pride. "I think it's because you're both sharpshooters. He seems very impressed."

"Nah, can't be that. I had to take him to the firing range yesterday, for training. It's obvious he hates guns. He held the one he had as far from his body as he could when he was shooting, the kickback nearly dislocated his shoulder. He's got fairly good aim, but I could see he had to force himself not to squeeze his eyes shut."

"Well, maybe he admires you because you're not scared of guns," said Breda around a mouthful of doughnut. "You're a manly man and all, kids that age need role models."

"And he admires Hawkeye because she's a model of manliness?" asked Havoc skeptically.

"I imagine that his family gave him a view of women as protective motherly figures. The idea that his superior is capable of shooting any potentially dangerous individual between the eyes at two hundred paces is rather reassuring," explained Falman.

Havoc looked carefully neutral.

"He likes her because she's a scary mamma bear," supplied Breda.

"Aaah. And he finds that reassuring? It seriously doesn't make _me_ feel any safer. Imagine if I was the 'potentially dangerous individual'? I'm too young to die."

"You probably perceive strong women as a threat to your virility. It's a perfectly normal reaction. Fury is simply secure enough in his sexuality to avoid this reaction."

"You should stop reading psychology books, Falman. You're going to lose all your friends if you don't."

"Yeah. And I'll have you know that I'm plenty secure in my sexuality. I just find Hawkeye kind of terrifying." Havoc crossed his arms and gave a little huff.

Breda patted his shoulder. "We all do, mate." This seemed to make Havoc feel a little better. A commotion near the entrance of the cafeteria made all three men turn. A furiously blushing Kain Fury was gathering cutlery from the floor. He seemed to have dropped his tray.

"Speaking of the devil. Isn't it a bit late for lunch?" asked Breda.

"He didn't take his noon break, he was sweeping the office for bugs," answered Falman.

"What on earth for?" This came from Havoc. He sounded absolutely indignant at the idea that anyone could possibly monitor their work.

"The Colonel asked him to."

"The Colonel is paranoid," said Breda dismissively.

"He found a bug in his phone, one in his desk, and two more in our file cabinets," stated Falman. Apparently, he had decided to see how many times he could stun his colleagues into silence in a single day.

Once again, they all turned towards Fury. He was holding his tray awkwardly; his shoulder was probably bruised and tender. He looked rather lost, and he reminded Breda very strongly of his nephew. The red-haired man turned to the other two with a questioning look.

"Yeah, why not," said Havoc with a wry grin. Falman nodded gravely.

Breda turned back and waved at Fury.

"Hey, kid, come sit with us!"

Fury's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He really did look like a puppy. He hurried enthusiastically to their table and sat down.

"Thank you, guys!" He looked painfully grateful. It made sense that a precocious genius who spent his spare time fiddling with electronics was used to eating alone. He was probably the sort of boy who spent a lot of time stuffed in his own locker in high school.

"No problem," said Breda. He extended his hand. "I think I forgot to tell you, welcome to Team Mustang."

Fury's lower lip started trembling alarmingly and his eyes were bright with tears when he shook Heyman's hand. Havoc and Falman pretended not to be horribly uncomfortable, but Breda was pleasantly surprised. The handshake had been firm and dry.

Really, he had a good feeling about the kid.


	4. Dangerous Liaisons

**Dangerous Liaisons (R)**

Roy was sitting on a cold metal table, his trousers around his ankles, holding an ice pack to his crotch. He tried to ignore the way Ed was trying half-heartedly not to snicker.

"Don't _laugh_."

"I can't help it. It's blue!" said Ed unrepentantly.

Roy lifted the pack and gazed worriedly downwards. It was actually closer to purple by now, but that didn't make him feel any better. It was also disturbingly swollen.

The doctor removed his gloves and cleared his throat.

"That'll need surgery, I'm afraid," he said apologetically. At least _someone_ was sympathizing, Roy thought while trying not to hyperventilate.

"_What?" _exclaimed Ed, looking terribly guilty. Served the little twerp right, this was entirely his fault. Trying this position had been his idea. Never mind that Roy had been enjoying himself immensely until the crack and the yell of pain.

"A penile fracture is very serious, Mr Elric. If the torn tissues aren't repaired quickly enough, your friend could experience permanent erectile dysfunction and pain during intercourse. And waiting two days before coming didn't help."

Roy felt rather faint. "I thought it would go away on its own," he said in an uncharacteristically subdued voice. Ed gripped his free hand.

"Don't worry; you should be fine in a few weeks." Roy felt dizzy. "Just be glad it didn't happen to you fifty years ago. Back then they would have amputated it."

Roy fainted. It showed exactly how guilty Ed was feeling that he didn't tell anyone.


	5. Isn't that nice?

**Isn't that nice? (R)**

As a child, like any other boy, Zolf Kimblee dreamed of having a pet lion. He ran around his grandmother's garden roaring, and developed a rather worrying penchant for biting whoever refused to call him king of the jungle. His parents got him a cat, hoping to placate him, but it only made him furious. Zolf didn't scream, didn't throw a tantrum. He never did. He simply got very quiet, and two weeks later the cat was found drowned in the well.

His parents never had an opportunity to get him another pet, because they were murdered by an asylum escapee who had thought they were demons come from hell. The man might have been right, Zolf has always had a hard time seeing what constitutes evil and what doesn't. And really, he rather fancied the idea of his parents being demons. He told this to his grandmother, and was sent to a military school soon after. The woman had seemed very eager to get rid of him, the strange, quiet child with impenetrable eyes.

As a teenager, when he went to the cinema for the first time and saw a film about a giant ape abducting a screaming princess (Jesus, didn't' the woman need to _breathe_? Her shrieking made him want to wrap his hand around her throat and _squeeze_.), he decided that gorillas were really neat, and that he'd like to see a real one someday.

As an adult trapped in a cell, he often passed the time reminiscing about more innocent times, about lions and about gorillas.

He also spent rather a lot of time remembering Ishval, the sound of explosions, the heat on his skin and the delightful stickiness of blood spraying on his face when he was standing close to his target. He refrained from telling the guards because it upset them, and then they stopped bringing his meals for several days in a row. They knew even when he was silent, from the blissful look on his face, but as long as he didn't actually say anything they were content to ignore him.

Wild animals and coppery blood. In his more introspective moments, he wondered if perhaps he felt so drawn to dangerous, feral creatures because he was one himself. He liked the idea of being in touch with his inner animal. It complemented his view of the world rather nicely. We are all animals. Some of us resist it, some of us embrace it.

After his release from prison, his first meeting with General Klemin held a delightful surprise. His mission was just what he needed to shake the rust of imprisonment off, but this, _this_…

This confirmed his belief that God existed, and that he had a wonderfully sick sense of humour.

"We have a large choice of chimerae in the labs; you will choose four for your mission. If all goes well they will stay under your command indefinitely."

_Pick your pets, and if you're a good boy, you get to keep them. Isn't that nice?_


End file.
